A to Z: Short Beginnings P

2016 THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.

YOUR PART: Throw out names, themes, random words or situations using the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

My creative blender awaits your P word suggestions in the comments section. Stop by tomorrow's post to read the story you inspired.

Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive list of A to Z Challenge participants.

O story:

The oblong shadows stretched far out ahead of Olive as she left the parking lot filled with immaculately clean minivans and approached the school. Presenting her idea to the oligarchy that was the PTO, said with nose high in the air and a perfectly manicured brows raised on botoxed foreheads, was not how she wanted to spend her Tuesday evening. But someone had to make a stand about the excessive fundraisers that further alienated the students whose parents didn't have rich relatives or parents willing to lay down a couple hundred dollars every time a flyer came home for twelve dollar single sheets of seed-embedded 100% recycled wrapping paper or two ounces of rosemary-infused extra virgin olive oil in some hand blown bottle made by monks in some old monastery in some remote corner of the world.

She walked into the school, already able to hear the chattering pouring out of the library. She walked through the open door and immediately felt out of place. Her blouse hadn't been seen on a mannequin in at least a decade and white dog hairs stuck to her slacks. The comfortable flats that got her through the day in the office that was her kitchen table didn't exude the fashion and power that the women had who were now staring at her.

Olive took a deep breath and did her best to be oblivious to their obvious disdain. She took a seat at an empty table, her knees rubbing the top of the surface suited the height of elementary-aged children. Even the allure of freshly brewed coffee that she was sure was better than the gas station variety she allowed herself as a treat, wasn't enough to coax her out of the safety of her seat. She whipped out her three year old phone and pretended to check messages while the others slowly turned back around and resumed their conversations.